Legend of Wu Xing
by Tophlet
Summary: Reavers can turn your whole world upside down. The Alliance will keep it that way.
1. Prologue

To some people on Wu Xing, things couldn't get worse. A hundred years of war had ripped all semblance of balance out of their lives and Fire Lord Ozai was gaining the upper-hand. But sometimes the 'Verse just has to prove you wrong, and it can do it with less than a breath: Reavers.

The first of 'em came down outside of Gaoling. Twisted metal and twisted minds all come together in a picture of terror the Fire Lord only dreamed of. But the Alliance has been doin' clean up since Miranda, and it weren't long till they showed up too, all shiny space ships and weaponry. Saw a good planet with fresh soil, saw a new people to stick under their belt and teach "civilization."

Only problem was, of course, that people everywhere got problems. Step onto a world with a hundred years' war raging and soon those problems become yours. It might have been easier to look at the dominance of the Fire Nation, send in a few more tanks and trade cash for allegiance, but the Alliance has dealt with rebels enough to know: people like that don't stop fighting. Instead they shined the shoes of the Earth Kingdoms and Water Tribes and arrested Fire Lord Ozai for crimes against humanity. They get their happy ending, the Alliance gets its blue hands in.

The Spirit of the World didn't exactly agree, so the story goes, but no one really knows what happened to him. Lot of people went missing when the Alliance moved into town. Mostly people they called "'benders."


	2. Chapter 1

Pan flutes hummed softly. Softly trilling birds could be heard faintly in the background. A brook flowed deftly around weather worn river stones to babble and wind around the spaces in Mal's ears. Synthesizer or not, Serenity sounded...serene. It made Mal uncomfortable.

"You mind tellin' me why there's new faces on this ship, Captain?" Or maybe it was the woman in front of him that set Mal on his toes. Zoe's face was as smooth as glass though her voice held its sharpened edge. It was completely at odds with the sight she presented wrapped up with a baby and the fluffiest blanket Kaylee could find on three worlds. The new mother's homecoming was something to be celebrated though she was on strict orders of rest from the ship's doctor. The whole situation made Mal feel like he was doing something wrong just by standing in the door.

And those birds were damn annoying, "Can you turn that off?"

"It soothes me," she deadpanned. There was no point in repeating the question. Zoe had a way of asking that bore itself down to the Captain's bones.

"We've got a man on loan from Big Daddy Holbrook to do what needs done from here to Bao Shu. Just long enough to get the job done."

"Last I heard we were runnin', not taking on passengers that require extra crew."

"Runnin' takes money," the clench of Mal's jaw told as bold a story as the heavy glare of his first mate. All she was saying were things he'd thought about himself. If it weren't for the gleaming recommendation their temporary man had from no less than three of their old pals, Mal would have scrapped the whole job. Passengers had started to leave a sour taste in his mouth but it was just one man and his money was good and, better, untraceable back to Alliance funds. But no money was so good that Mal'd be sorry for an extra eye he could be reasonably sure would watch his back.

Two new men aboard and they were technically two down. Mal didn't like doing math that added up to lost lives. Book and Wash were still fresh wounds nearly a year later and it had been a near miss with the danger of Zoe's pregnancy. Doc may have gotten her patched up enough to move out of the hospital but she wasn't going to be much good in a fight for a while. That would be fine if they still had Jayne but Mal hadn't watched that bridge burn long enough to know where it went.

He didn't like it, but there wasn't much he could do about it. It was the least dangerous job he could find and stay off the Alliance's radar. Murmurs about rebellion were getting louder lately, Mal just hoped they stayed in the shadows where they belonged and away from what was left of his crew.

The chip on his shoulder slipped the smallest bit when Zoe replied, "I don't like it." The words mirrored his thoughts so closely that the smile they brought was involuntary.

"Nothin' to like. You just concentrate on taking care of little Emma. I've got the rest."

I'd be very thankful for a review/critique. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 2

"And then I said, 'Penta_pus? _I thought you said Penta_pox_!"

The entire table erupted in uproarous laughter. To be honest, it was nothing Mal expected when he first heard of the man, Sokka.

All his old war pals described him as a capable fighter, sure. The man (man? Young man, maybe. 20's? 30's? There was a strange quality to his face that made it hard to tell) had a strong build and when Holbrook had him show off his aim, Mal had been satisfied. He had a wicked looking (downright _strange_) boomerange strapped to his back half the time and a sword in his bunk that had Mal straddling the line between eccentric and suspicious. The kid might've had three great recommendations from people whose word Mal trusted, but you didn't get passed through _three different crews _without being a few cogs short of a pocket watch.

It had become Mal's personal challenge to see what made Sokka tick. A few gears just didn't seem to line up. A passing glance at River saw her laughing as heartily as the rest of the crew (which was nice, good even!) but when Sokka had first come aboard the girl got a look in her face that bespoke the kind of trouble the captain actively tried to avoid. Confusion and surprise and whispers of secrets were things that bode no good fortrune coming from River Tam.

A small scrape a couple moons back proved Sokka's mettle as a gunhand, but what was really surprising was the drive with which the kid applied himself to learn. Plenty o' folk had never been in the engine room of a ship, sure, and plenty more'd never been to space themselves. But most of 'em didn't stick to the mechanic like glue and pursue every question through to an answer of full understanding. There were plenty of backwoods planets in the 'verse, but something seemed odd about the way the man (boy?) looked at everything in wonder. It was like he was playing the best game of catch-up.

Man, he told one hell of a story.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes Sokka would wander up to the cockpit and talk to River. Of all the worlds and all the stations in the 'verse, what were the odds that she knew Xingese? When asked, she said they offered it at an academy she once went to. One of the first classes she took, but she refused to talk about any of the others. Sokka didn't push. But it was nice to be able to speak in his own language again.

The Chinese that people spoke sporadically throughout the 'verse was similar, though colored with a strange accent and a handful of unfamiliar words and phrases. He'd tried to get by using the Chinese dialect at first, but found his success was very limited. People used more English in everyday use. Day by day he'd learned to integrate the language into his own until Sokka could interact with folks on a pretty level basis. His accent and choice of words would always give him away as some sort of ship hand, but then he never had any ambition to go to a Core planet. His orders had always been clear: find those whom the Alliance oppressed, and give them a reason to fight again.

It seemed like a lifetime since he'd been back home. The years had dragged on and flew by before he could blink, and he wasn't sure if he recognized the man in the mirror (hell, he didn't even know how _old_ he was). Part of him sometimes wondered if there was even a home to fight for, anymore. If maybe stewed sea prunes and midnight sun madness were all part of some fever dream. But speaking to River brought him back. Back to memories of campfires and skybison, of spirits and 'bending. He never talked about home, mostly she taught him about the ship and the consoles, how to steer and move, but sometimes she would look at him—stop dead in the middle of a sentence and peer straight through him—and it was like she knew. Almost like she'd been there. Like she'd seen the Reavers crashing from the sky, had done what they'd had to do. And in those moments, Sokka would excuse himself, return to his room, and shut the door. Who knew sympathy could be so rending?

She wasn't the only one with whom Sokka had developed a kinship. Kaylee was was just as eager to teach him about engines as he was to learn—she reminded him of the Mechanist in that way, but there was an innocent sweetness about her that just begged for protection. When Simon managed to say the wrong thing (again), Sokka laughed and saw the claws come out. In those moments she faintly reminded him of Katara, but his sister's backbone had always ventured towards stubborn belligerence.

He'd learned, in the last few years, that it was something he and Katara had in common. Maybe it was a Water Tribe thing, maybe it was something they got from GranGran, but it reared its head every time the Alliance enforced some ridiculous rule, took some sort of bullshit harbor tax, or every time someone talked about "Unification." Sokka might not have been a part of that particular war, but he felt as if he'd fought it just the same. All told, there wasn't much difference between the Alliance and Fire Lord Ozai. They both promised something better at the compromise of freedom and decency. It was probably why, after Reavers came down and the world was pulled out from under him, Sokka fell so easily into the employment of smugglers. Most of them had some sort of bone to pick with the Alliance and though Jet had well taught him that the enemy of your enemy is not always your friend, Sokka had learned quickly that some crews were more honorable than others.

This one, he thought, was one of the good ones. He knew from his last captain that Mal had fought for the Independents and he knew from observation that the chip on the man's shoulder was warranted, as was the respect present in his crew. Sokka had only been on Serenity for a few weeks but he thought, in the darkness of his worst nights, that if Wu Xing really had gone to hell and Aang was really gone for good, that maybe he wouldn't mind staying with them.

Right now, though, as he washed up and slapped those thoughts to the back of his mind, he had to focus on the task set before him. The crew was docking on some planet that Sokka hadn't yet learned how to pronounce to pick up some high roller from the Core planets. Guess he didn't want the Alliance knowing his every move. Personally, Sokka didn't like it and if he were the captain, probably wouldn't go for it. Something had convinced Mal, though, that the passenger wouldn't any trouble. He wondered if it was the doctor or even the ex-Companion; if either of them knew the man from before.

Sokka wasn't going to stick around to meet him. The man had bought passage almost clear to the other side of the 'Verse so there'd be plenty of time for introductions later. Instead, the Water Tribesman was going to put his couple of hours planet-side to good use. Checking himself in the mirror, Sokka made sure his hair was tied neatly into its wolf-tail and that none of his breakfast clung to his goatee (it never hurts to check). The jacket he shrugged on was custom: dark blue leather patterned after traditional Water Tribe armor. It was silly, he knew, but he wanted to look his best today. He wanted to look like Wu Xing was still out there, that there was still a home to go back to.

He threw a careless goodbye to Zoe, who told him to be back to the ship in three hours. It might take him half that time to find what he was looking for, but that didn't quell the anticipation rising in his chest. Sokka fingered the white lotus tile in his pocket. If the spirits really were on his side, it was time for some Pai Sho.

* * *

**Hey there!** So this is the longest chapter I've written, ever. And for the (probably) three of you that might be reading this, I hope you enjoy it! I know this is an obscure crossover, but please leave a review if you are reading. I'd love to know what you think and how you think I might be able to improve. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

"So who is this guy?" Mal stood on the catwalk above the cargo bay, arms folded in what Inara thought of as his, 'I don't like it' pose. "All you've given me so far is a name and your good word."

The look he received was brazen and well deserved, "You're questioning my word, now?" Of _course_ she wasn't going to let him get away with that.

"He'll be on my ship, Inara," Mal said, staying strictly on topic. It was too easy to get caught in a battle of wit, which was why this particular line of questioning had been waylaid as long as it had. The hour was drawing near and Mal was no closer to a satisfactory answer.

The former companion sighed, "He asked for anonymity, Mal. You already know he doesn't want any run-ins with the Alliance and he's going to be paying you handsomely, can't you let it go?"

"No," he stated, fixing his eyes on the woman. Her strange response only set Mal on his toes. More than ever he wanted an answer before the man showed up, "My ship: my rules. Who is he?"

Inara recognized the look. It was one she alternatively loved and hated. It spoke of duty and honor and a strict yet ambiguous moral code. But it also meant that Mal would look for a fight with their passenger if she didn't give in. She'd only met the man a couple of times herself but she was, for all intents and purposes, his hostess during his stay and it was her responsibility to ease his journey. He might not even _make_ his destination if Mal was against him from the start.

"He's...an ambassador," she went for a look of innocent nonchalance. Maybe he wouldn't press further.

"Ambassador?"

_Jao gao_, "To the Allied Parliament. From a planet like Miranda that's not supposed to exist," Inara offered Mal a peace-making smile, "He holds no love for them, either. Trust me when I say he has just as much reason to stay under the radar as we do."

* * *

He'd found it. Finally, and after only forty-five minutes of looking, Sokka sunk into the dusty cushion in front of the Pai Sho table as if he was putting his feet up after a long day. He almost felt like he was home. He vaguely recognized the face across from him—green eyes and dark hair marked him as Earth Kingdom and he'd never been so happy to see one of those pretentious caps on his head. The two had probably been passengers together on that first, fateful voyage into the stars.

"The guest has the first move," the host intoned, the distinct accent to his English setting a smile to Sokka's face. He sounded somewhat bored. Pai Sho may have had ancient, time honored origins on Wu Xing but the rest of the 'Verse turned it into just another way to gamble. People with boards started haunting bars at various ports and docks and stations a number of years ago and the 'Verse just sort of accepted it without question. Sokka was starting to see whole game sets for sale in port stores. Part of him lamented that these people had _no idea_ where it came from or what it meant to him. The strategic part of his mind grimly admitted that it would help their cover and whatever money hapless ship hands lost in a pai sho game directly funded the work of the White Lotus. It really was a good, if not tasteless, situation.

The host offered a set of tiles for his guest but with a shake of his head, Sokka pulled out his personal set. Carefully, almost reverently, he placed the white lotus tile in the center position. His opponent looked at him again, this time taking in all the minute details that, when combined, screamed Water Tribe.

The green-eyed man grinned, using his native tongue to comment, "I see you favor the White Lotus gambit."

* * *

Zoe insisted on being present when the Guest arrived. It took no convincing at all for Kaylee to watch Emma, but the same could not be said for both her doctor and captain. Simon, she knew, just wanted to be cautious. Though her body may heal faster with rest, her mind was going crazy from it. So despite protests, she suited up and stood resolutely in the cargo bay to meet their passenger with Mal and Inara. The captain huffed and glowered, clearly unhappy. That was fine. She knew she wasn't at her prime. The captain would have a fight on his hands, though, if he tried to argue that her sidearm wasn't in perfect firing condition.

The three of them, Mal, Inara, and Zoe, stood shoulder to shoulder in the mid-afternoon sun on Serenity's loading ramp. The agreed upon time passed without anyone in particular approaching the ship. Mal wordlessly tossed Inara a look meant to question whether the man was going to show up at all when he saw her straighten and approach a rather nondescript looking man.

While he and Inara exchanged greetings the two ex-soldiers sized him up, somewhat surprised by their conclusions. He looked every part the weary traveler: fatigue and hunger hung around his eyes while dirt clung to every strand of his messily tied hair. Dust covered everything at this port and it seemed the Ambassador was no exception—it was under his fingernails and all over his pack, even on the very nearly concealed sword strapped under his coat. What Mal hadn't been expecting were the callouses he felt later while shaking the man's hand that revealed he regularly _used_ it. His eyes were the lightest brown Mal had ever seen. If he were a poetic man he might even call them gold. However, strange eye color was secondary to the burn that covered a quarter of his face. A lot of people had gotten burned during the war. That in itself wasn't strange. What was strange is that he hadn't undergone surgery to be rid of it. If he really was an ambassador in the employ of the Alliance, he could probably afford it. If he really was from a secret planet the Alliance wanted to keep hush-hush and the scar was somehow _their fault_, he probably kept it on purpose. Mal could respect a man like that.

"Mal, Zoe, I'd like to introduce to you Li Hong. Mr. Hong, this is Captain Malcom Reynolds and his first mate, Mrs. Zoe Washburn."

Li, or, as he was officially known, _Zuko_ had already formed his own assessment of the trio. He'd watched the ship for a while before deciding when to approach. There was no guilt present about technically arriving "late." As the Blue Spirit he'd learned to observe and assess before rushing headlong into a situation. As the young Prince Zuko he'd learned that brashness could get you in trouble. He'd spent the last several years playing the games of politics and high society, steeped in half-truths and lies so thick they could choke. Being able to bide his time was no longer just a skill wished upon him by a kindly uncle, but a necessity for survival.

"Please," he said with a precision that sounded faintly like Simon, "Just call me Li. I am happy to meet you both."

He said 'happy;' Mal expected he meant something different. After a perfunctory handshake the Captain gestured to Li's weapon, "You expecting trouble?"

The passenger looked plainly at the weapons strapped to both Zoe and Mal's sides. "I like to be prepared," he said, matching the Captain's tone, "Are you?"

"Force of habit. Come on in, we'll get you settled, lay the ground rules. Some of the crew's out pickin' up supplies so you'll meet them all come supper."

The farther they walked into the belly of the ship, the more Zuko worked to quell the shimmer of excitement. He was finally, _mercifully_ on his way home. Just a couple more weeks. Now, he actively tried to avoid optimism when possible (positive thoughts, despite his uncle's admonitions, normally lead to disappointed hopes and some sort of pandemonium), but his inner fire blazed brighter the closer and closer Wu Xing became. By the time he arrived at Bao Shu to switch ships he would probably be downright _giddy_.

That was neither here nor there at present. Zuko took in what he could of the ship. He'd seen the warrant out for _Serenity_ about a year back and had caught the rumors about the Miranda broad-wave. The flurry of meetings and emergency sessions of Parliament that followed had muddied his recollection, but what he saw now affirmed his initial decision to pursue this ship as transport. It was old and a wreck but obviously cared for by, he suspected, a ragtag crew. He tried to ignore the pain that lanced through his heart, calling to mind his own crew from those two short years at sea. He'd not been worthy of respect then, Zuko now believed, and wondered if he ever would be again.

* * *

**Whoop! **Zuko in da house! And I would like to note that any Chinese curses used are going to come from the Firefly wiki's dictionary. Google translate always lets me down so if you'd like to check my usage, go there.

_Jao gao - _Alas, not good, crud!, what a mess, too bad 糟糕: literally, "spoiled cake."


	6. Chapter 6

Anyone who'd been on the receiving end of River's scrutinizing gaze would agree that "tense," didn't justifiably describe the situation. Zuko, however, had no one with which to commiserate and no ready thesaurus to provide a more apt description. Ignore the gauzy dress and silky hair, River's steady eyes had his battle instincts screaming. How discomfiting it was to not know if he wanted to fight or flee.

Zuko had already received as much of a tour as he was going to get, closed out by extremely clear boundaries by the gruff captain. He'd met the bouncy mechanic, stood awkwardly while Zoe introduced her infant daughter with unspoken promises of pain and retribution to any possible harm, and heard about the young pilot through grumbles of, "where is that girl?" In the twenty minutes Mal took to show him around and make sure Zuko was clear on his limits and allowances on the ship, there was no sign of her. Not five seconds after Mal left him to settle into his bunk the teenage girl dropped herself in his doorway.

The spirits must hate him. Their favorite pastime seemed to be dangling the temptation of his homeland just out of reach. He'd seen the warrant, read the dossier. Fight or flee, neither option would end well.

"Hello," he exhaled, shoulders slumping, inwardly gearing for a closed quarters skirmish.

And then the strangest thing happened: she _smiled_. Brilliantly and wonderfully and not at all like every other dangerous female he knew in his life. And then she left. Left. Turned and walked off like she hadn't just threatened his life by breathing and given him a heart attack by smiling. Damnit. This was going to be a long trip.

* * *

For such a small crew they sure needed a lot of supplies. It wasn't that the crates were too heavy, even, Simon determinately persevered, but that they were ungainly and cumbersome. He wasn't a weak man. He wasn't Jayne (thank _God_), but even he should be able to unload the mule without breaking into a sweat. The smart sting of betrayal Simon felt towards his body twinged the moment he heard Sokka rush up the gangplank with a shout of assistance. Really. Maybe he should be more proactive in his exercise routine.

"Thanks," he grimaced, keenly aware that the new ship hand seemed to share none of the good doctor's struggles.

"No problem," Sokka shrugged, ever present smile hanging loosely off the words, "You meet 'im yet?"

"Hm? What?" Simon had just raised the plank and shut the airlock doors, radioing the cockpit that the dark foreigner was the last man in, "Who?"

"Master Fussybritches, our swanky passenger," Sokka privately rejoiced that he'd been able to find the English to match Toph's favored insult. He really had no idea about this new(er) guy, where he landed on either the swanky or fussybritch scale, but took joy at the fond memories associated with the name. "See 'im yet?"

It took Simon an awkward moment to gather his thoughts from where they'd been lingering on his bruised pride as Sokka finished unloading the mule with ease, "Oh, um, no. In fact I only just returned myself. I suspect we'll meet at supper." Silence filled the space. He was never exactly sure how to talk to the charismatic young man. Sokka spent so much time with Kaylee that Simon was constantly torn between treating him with etiquette or resentment. The sweet mechanic always seemed to note his insecurities, though, lavishing him with amused affection when the opportunity arose. It only just managed to quell his damaged ego.

"Right, well," Simon bumbled, "I'm going to, um...go see about dinner."

He let his nicely polished shoes point him in the area of the kitchen, feet needing no input from his brain to reach their destination. Things had been strange since Miranda, and Simon was certainly surprised that they had taken on a passenger. Considering their refugee state and what sort of mayhem always followed newcomers to the ship, he'd have thought Mal would live in permanent quarantine. It was not difficult for him to admit that he would almost prefer it. Simon would, _did_, go through hell for his sister and this crew, but that didn't mean it was something he _welcomed._

He relaxed as a low, nearly inaudible frequency _thrummed_ through the ship, the telltale sign of Kaylee starting up the engines for takeoff. Strange as it was, Simon would be more comfortable as soon as Serenity left behind atmo for black. The terror of nothingness always lingered in his brain, but fateful trips planet-side had left far more bitterness.

Before he knew it, he stood at the kitchen bulkhead. Inside could only be the man Sokka had dubbed "Master Fussybritches," as Simon was sure Mal would never have the patience to grow his hair so long. He had also never known the captain to so gently cradle a teapot.

The man turned at his arrival. Simon noticed, with a clinical sort of detachment, the mottled flesh on half the man's face.

"Good afternoon."

Zuko had heard the approach, felt the engines hum to life, and his first thought had been the teapot. The _teapot_. Sweet spirits, he really was turning into his uncle. This particular stock of Oolong reminded him of rings and tea shops, brief flickers of happiness before...well, before a lot of things. There wasn't much of the brew left except the promise in his heart to buy case after case of _real_ tea at his first opportunity on Wu Xing. Uncle would be absolutely obscene with glee.

After the unique introduction to Miss River Tam Zuko had been able to wash and change, thankful for clean fingernails and stain-free, if still nondescript, clothing. Mal had insisted he would meet everyone at dinner, so Zuko decided he'd rather watch them all file in, a little unsure of when dinner was actually supposed to take place. The man who'd just arrived had a surgeon's hands: steady, even on a quavering ship.

"You must be Simon," Zuko replied as he drew the conclusion, belatedly realizing he hadn't actually acknowledged the greeting. And here he was thinking he'd actually gotten a handle on the whole "social skills" thing. "I'm Li," he hastily tacked on, attempting to salvage his faux pas.

He needn't have worried, Simon was well acquainted with that particular struggle. "I am," he offered with a smile, "It's nice to meet you, Li."

Social niceties reluctantly demanded Zuko's next cue, "May I offer you some tea?"

_Don't say yes, don't say yes_

"Tea would be lovely, actually, thank-you."  
_  
_It wasn't that Zuko _generally_ minded sharing tea, it just disappeared so quickly. He honestly thought he might have enough time to finish it before being forced to share. Uncle probably always said something about it tasting better with good company, he couldn't remember. Like so many of those admonitions, his heart only retained a vague recollection of the intended message. At one point they were something he wanted to forget, the shame of his own dismissal of Uncle's teachings greater than his desire to remember. But time passed and the heavens opened and he needed those jewels like water, grasping at wisdom like a dying man. He'd managed so far, with carefully solicited help, to survive in the brave new universe. But one of his favorite things about falling off the Alliance's radar was that he knew how to live like a refugee—didn't even have to try. It was _political_ death that always seemed a hairsbreadth away.

Simon was no politician. Every shirked topic rang as clear as klaxons in Zuko's mind but they soon settled in nostalgia on the landscapes of their respective homelands. Kaylee flounced into the kitchen arm in arm with Inara, light steps and pleasant humming easing gently into the background.

The quiet _click_ of a safety release effectively doused all small talk.

Oh _hell._

* * *

Mal was actually pleased with flying beside River Tam in quiet tandem. What with her readin' minds and all, take off procedure took barely any time at all. They'd cleared atmo and set a course for the faraway port of Bao Shu, where both the new ship-hand and passenger would be disembarking. Their course was a rather sparse one, but Mal learned a valuable lesson from the last time they were caught limping in the black. He'd made sure, double (triple!) checked with Kaylee, that their engine was well and set. No surprise explosions cutting off their life support this time.

Glancing aside at his copilot, he took in her suddenly wide-eyed, green around the gills expression. This never bode well, "What is it?" he asked with all seriousness. She might be crazy, but ever since Miranda she'd been _reliable_ crazy. If somethin' had her queasy, Mal needed to know.

The answering whisper would have been terrifying were it not so mundane.

"_I'm not going to dinner."_

Her words caught up with him three minutes later, staring as Sokka kept his pistol leveled at the back of their payday.

Aw _hell_.

* * *

**Eeeeeehehe. **Ok, I honestly didn't intend to leave it this way. Aaaaand then I did. **Abby:** :D Thank-you for your wonderful review. You know that old adage about great minds? **Hpdwlotr24: **Thank-you!


	7. Chapter 7

There's no place to run on a ship. You can duck into the shadows, you can close doors, and you can yell at people to leave you alone until your face turns blue, but that's about it. There's no escaping. There's no way out.

Sokka was well acquainted with this fact. If he hadn't spent the last number of years either on a ship or getting to one, he'd have been able to tell you just the same. Spending the first fifteen years of your life on a frozen island wasn't much different. People had their spaces, sure, igloos are just as good as private quarters. They're your space sure as you make them, but you can't ever get away. Where're you gonna go? Maybe back at the Southern Water Tribe he'd have been able to go hunting, to take his aggression out in a violent yet productive way; but on a ship you had to hope for planet-fall to really, truly escape. A space station wasn't any better. He needed the earth beneath his feet, as weird as that was to admit.

There were ways to cope, for sure. Most crews he'd been a part of had someone willing to trade blows in good sport, or a punching bag as a no-thought substitute. Sometimes a job would provide distraction enough from the chaos in his head. Sometimes, though, he just had to get good and lost; to walk the streets and alleys of a yet unknown port, to let it all press into his ears so that the babble was just babble and the ground was that of home.

Untold years—he hadn't figured it out yet—so many years he'd been weaving through the black, always just a step away from that last piece that would let things go back to the way they were before. One more crew, one more ship, one more and one more and maybe then the White Lotus would have the support it needed to make a move in this covert war. Maybe then they'd finally find Aang and Katara and all the other 'benders the Alliance had stolen. Maybe he could go home. Maybe. Maybe.

Mal seemed like a good captain. The rest of them _were_ a good crew. Everyone on this ship was _good_. Maybe this group would listen. He knew they were on the run from the Alliance, maybe what the White Lotus had to offer would inspire them to dig in their heels and turn towards their adversary. He'd been so close, had a week before he was scheduled to disembark and find another crew to recruit and he was so sure he'd make it.

Then they took on a passenger and Sokka saw everything change. From the shadows just beyond the kitchen he'd glimpsed that face: the harbinger of fire and destruction. After all, Zuko had chased them from one pole to the other and found them in the labyrinth of Ba Sing Se. What was a few more planets between enemies?

Iroh may have had faith in the good of his nephew, but did that hold up when the crystal catacombs spilled over with Reavers? Had the good inside finally come to manifest when ships crashed through towering walls and fire rained from the sky? For a while Sokka hoped. Hoped when he and Toph got separated in the resulting chaos and he was ushered onto a strange skyship that things would turn out. Hoped that Aang and Iroh would reach Zuko and his sister in time to save them. He held on to that vague and fleeting feeling even when his mind reeled and his planet got smaller, when Reavers pursued and his ship crashed on a foreign world.

Time worked its way under his skin and he learned what the Alliance did to people it could use. Even still the fickle flame of hope kept him warm on the dark nights until one day Zuko's scarred visage appeared on a video screen. Some trounced up piece of Alliance propaganda paraded as news and then that face appeared in the background. He was clean. He was well dressed. He was healthy. He was in the lap of the enemy and that day Sokka stopped hoping. Because if Zuko worked for the Alliance then whatever good Iroh claimed to have seen was dead and there had never been any hope for Katara at all.

So when he had the opportunity to put Zuko at his mercy he took it. He ignored the injured shock on Kaylee's face, the carefully composed look on Inara's. Sokka only reacted to Mal's stern intensity by adjusting his grip on the sweaty gun. The captain was probably saying something commanding, but the Water Tribesman couldn't hear it over the rush of his own pulse.

* * *

"What're you doin' pointing a gun at our payday?"

Zuko raised his hands in deliberate surrender, doing his best to be categorized under, "not a threat."

_Never give up without a fight_.

The prince had since learned: not all fights are won with hands.

He aimed to open his mouth in neutrality, gain information on his yet unseen attacker, when the man behind Zuko snarled and the past caught up with him.

"_Where are they?"_

He never thought he'd hear that Polar dialect again. At once he flushed with hope and horror, skin clammy yet burning with adrenaline. It wasn't a reaction he could hide and he could not feign innocence. "_They,"_ could only refer to two very specific people.

_Breathe, nephew, strength comes from the breath._

"I do not know where they are."

The English answer received a vulgar rebuttal, probably only half understood by the witnesses. That's what these people were now. That was important. If this went south his candor might bring _someone_ to his aid. He couldn't answer in Xingese—he couldn't claim non-aggression if no one understood him.

"I swear I don't know, Sokka," he heard the _clack_ of the hammer being pulled. This would lead to a lot of questions he hadn't wanted the Captain asking, a lot of conversations he didn't want having. But a lot of _anything_ was better than a gun blast to the brain, especially now. Go big or go home, right? "But I'm close to finding out."

_"What happened to my sister?"_

Thick emotion garbled Sokka's demands but thick annoyance brought Mal butting back in.

"Someone want to clue me in as to what's going on, here?"

"Sokka," Inara joined, "Put it down."

This was getting nowhere. Mal could see sure as sunlight that the man wasn't going to. He was pissed off and hurtin', sweaty and shaking and desperate. Mal had been there before, where anger was the only thing holding you up anymore. Well that was too bad, because he wasn't captain of this ship to be the newby's den mother. They still had pay to collect and you couldn't bleed money from a dead man.

He pulled out his revolver and aimed between Sokka's brows, "You remember what I told you when you when you first stepped on my ship?" He didn't want to do it; he would.

Pain wrinkled the ship hand's features. Fury had smoldered in his heart for ages, consuming him bit by bit.

If he ceded now, what would be left?

The object of his hate sat before him, having the _gall_ to appear neither phased nor contrite and Sokka wanted to rage. Every cell in him was burning and they just wanted him to _stop?_

He could do it. He could shoot that bastard right here.

Mal's ultimatum would stop him, either way.

Sokka disengaged the hammer with quaking fingers, replaced the safety; eyes bored into the back of his enemy's head while the Captain relieved him of his firearm and lowered his own revolver.

Mal's eyes flickered off him for a second and it was enough for Sokka to grasp his boomerang and lunge.

The cold steel in his fingers never made contact with its target. In that moment the prince rose and twisted, slamming the hilt of his swords into Sokka's advancing forehead. His footing was terrible, it didn't take much to knock him down. It earned Zuko a gun or two in his own face but the boomerang slid across the room and the Water Tribesman was out.

* * *

Simon and Mal dragged Sokka down to the infirmary to be stitched up and dressed down upon waking. This spoke of trouble and wasn't that just typical? A member of Parliament from a nonexistent planet turned their perpetually cheerful ship hand into three-seconds-from a murderer. Mal wasn't exactly against killin' folks what deserved it (hell, they could kill each other all they wanted once they got off his ship), but he had a bad feeling in his gut. Feeling like his crew was about to get dragged into something big and bad that just might blow their house down.

Mal left Simon with instructions to strap down his patient and headed back up to the cockpit. If trouble was on their tail he wanted to see it coming. His foot hadn't even passed through the bulkhead before River greeted him with a reproving look.

"Told you so."

"You couldn't have been more specific?"

"You could have asked. You still think I'm crazy."

"You _are_ crazy. Still," he settled into the pilot's seat, arranging sensors to his liking, "Anything else I oughta know?"

"Zuko's a monkey."

"Perfect," who the hell was Zuko?

* * *

Li (_Zuko, _his mind whispered,_ son of Ursa and Ozai, crown prince of the Fire Nation and heir to the throne) _sat peacably in the passenger dorm where he'd been waiting since being escorted (marched) there by Zoe. The captain would probably be coming by later. He'd probably want to know about Zuko's ties to the Alliance, why he was here, how he and Sokka knew each other, standard stuff; questions Zuko knew _he'd_ want answers to if their roles were reversed.

He wasn't looking forward to getting on a new ship. Months had gone into planning this trip, laying false trails and putting aside money enough to keep him untraceable from planet to planet. The chances for another run to Wu Xing were extremely low, especially if plans went awry and it got around that he was making an unsanctioned journey back to his nonexistent home. He might "officially" be an unofficial representative for his planet to parliament, but their idea of freedom was a veil of toxicity, and Zuko longed for fire flakes and the burn of his own sun.

Time away had taken a toll he could expect very few people to understand. There was something indescribable about 'bending tin the rest of the 'verse. It felt akin to starving every time he lit one of those weak, flickering flames in his palm. Zuko suspected Uncle might know why. Brief messages relayed through the Cortex weren't enough, not when they were as heavily coded as either man could stand. Personal inquiries had become rote, any real concern was shoved down in favor of conversations the planet of Wu Xing couldn't bear for them not to have.

More than just a desire to discuss his bending spurred this idiotically dangerous plan—Uncle was getting old. The year back home, Zuko had learned, was faster than the one adhered to by the Alliance. Apparently their calendar was based on a planetary cycle which no longer existed. Wu Xing was an anomaly, developed with a terraforming technique with which modern scientists were unfamiliar. The apparently unusual magnetic field and much higher gravitational force bred stout humans, but the increased strain resulted in faster aging and lower life expectancy. Out in the 'verse people from Wu Xing lived longer, aged slower. Zuko'd gathered rumors and gossip of men and women with a sort of super strength or endurance and carefully destroyed them. Enough people from his world had gone missing after the Alliance made planet-fall, there was no way in the deepest layer of Koh's dark lair he would let them go after the non-benders, too.

All this boiled down to time slowing down for the crown prince as the Fire Lord sped closer and closer to the cleansing pyre. And if he got kicked off this ship because of Sokka's misinformed vendetta he-

He just better make it back. There was no alternative**.**

* * *

**A Word on Xingese: **The Chinese spoken in the 'verse has been meshed with English: word order screwed up, tones completely ignored. It's been said by people who know about these things that a lot of the insults used in Firefly are clumsy, awkward, or just plain out of place. I have absolutely no problem with that, and you know why? Because that's what happens when languages borrow from each other. They pick and choose what to use until it's been integrated in a completely different way. It makes absolute sense that tone and phrases and words borrowed from Chinese into English for hundreds of years do not match those of a native speaker. This is one of the reasons people can't understand Zuko and Sokka when they speak Xingese, and why the boys have trouble with the 'verse's version of Chinese. The language of the people of Wu Xing has developed separately from the rest of the 'verse for centuries. Their languages began basically the same but the Alliance stuck to Mandarenglish while Wu Xing stuck to some form of Chinese. They are bound to have unique phrases, emphasis, and pronunciations, not to mention dialects. As everyone in Avatar: the Last Airbender could understand each other I'm operating under the assumption that they all speak the same language. To add some realism to the mix, each unique geographic area had developed a dialect. I mean, Swampbenders: amirite? If the History channel assumes we need captions to understand people from Louisiana here in America, imagine trying to understand a similar dialect in a language you only barely have a working knowledge of.

* * *

**Also**: I'm aliiive! Thanks for sticking with me.


	8. Chapter 8

After all the excitement before dinner, Serenity grew quiet. Sokka received no visitors in the infirmary, Zuko received no visitors in his quarters. The captain was content to let them stew.

Truth be told, he wasn't even sure he wanted to know anything, yet. Asking questions often led to answers he didn't partiularly want to deal with. At least in a firefight you didn't have to decide to take action-if people shot at him, he was damn well going to shoot back and find out why later.

But slouched on the seating of the ship's lounge, Mal could do nothing but think.

Inara came and sat at his side, tucking her feet and looking far more relaxed in simple clothing than she ever had as a Companion in silks. It was one of the few changes over the last year that he couldn't say he minded. He was just about to comment on her welcome distraction but, unfortunately for him, she spoke first.

"What are you going to do?"

Mal let out a big puff of air, not bothering to hide his exasperation, "Do I have to do anything? They're big boys, we could drop them off on the nearest planet and let them take care of it themselves. It ain't our problem."

"Sure we could," she said with raised brows and sarcasm, "And when the Alliance eventually figures out that Li disappeared we'll be back on their radar. Brilliant plan, Captain, how do you do it?"

"They're not my problem, Inara!"

She stared him down.

"They're not!"

"You just threatened a man's life and possibly saved another's in the same breath. If they weren't your problem you'd have let them kill each other, kept Mr. Hong's deposit, and dumped the bodies where you could be reasonably sure no one would find them. Yet here they are, safe and sound. Like it or not, Mal, they already are."

"Yeah? And what happens to us, then?"

"Us?"

"Us, th-Serenity, the crew. What happens to us when this turns into yi da tuo da bian? We're still limpin' from the last fight and I ain't naive enough to hope that the Alliance won't get involved in this one. That Hong fella practically has the Core planets stamped on his forehead, and River's been shifty ever since Sokka came aboard. Don't tell me we won't get sucked in again. Cuz we will."

She said nothing, because there was nothing to say.

* * *

Sokka felt like shit. In all honesty, it wasn't the possible concussion or being tied down with restraints that did it.

It was the quiet way Kaylee was talking to her hands. She'd done nothing but teach him and be kind and there he was, disappointing her.

"You didn't even see his face 'fore you drew on 'im."

But after four lonely hours, she was there directing words at him even if she wouldn`t look at his face. No one else was.

"Yeah well," he said, "We have a history. I know that scar anywhere."

"Cap'll prob'ly kick you off."

Sokka shrugged, winced when the throbbing in his head got worse. "I'm getting off soon, anyway. It can't make that much difference. Most ships are glad to be rid of me."

"Well you fit in here, is all I'm sayin'."

"I-" Sokka cut himself off. Captain was just about to the infirmary-and the wary look of the good doctor following right behind shut him up real quick. There was nothing more than friendship between Sokka and Kaylee but you wouldn't know it by how carefully polite Simon always was. He was professional, at least, and always gave Sokka proper medical attention. There was just as much care this time around as there had been after Sokka's first few scrapes fighting alongside the crew. There were, however, far fewer kindly jibes from Mal. Or, none, really. Just a chip on his shoulder and a solid dose of glares.

The level of tension really ratcheted up when Zoe arrived at the infirmary, Fire Prince in tow. The room was crowded with bodies, egos, and years of unresolved tension. It made Simon's social awkwardness flare up. "Kaylee, uh, yeah, we should-we should go."

He led her gently with a hand on her back while she threw anxious looks at the captain. The excitement was far from the worst, and even farther from most unforgivable, thing that had happened on Serenity but Mal's tolerance had started taking a hard turn after Early. Wash and Book made it nosedive.

The two lovers gone, the rest of them were still stuck on the near side of a conversation no one seemed keen to start. Mal stared at Sokka, Sokka glowered at Zuko, Zuko found the floor fascinating and Zoe found the whole thing ridiculous. She cleared her throat.

"Somethin' you wanted to say, Captain?"

Whatever it was, it didn't seem to sit right with him, but he was gonna say it anyway.

"This business between you two-" "Cap, if you let me explain-" "I was defending myself-"

"I don't want to hear it."

The two Xingese men were stunned to silence.

"I don't want to know," Mal repeated, "And I don't care so long as you keep it between yourselves and off my ship. You don't talk to me about it. You don't talk to my crew about it. Kill each other all you want once we get to Bao Shu, but disrupt my ship and I'll let you off a mite sooner, dong ma?"

"Cap-" "What about my order is unclear, Sokka?"

"Nothing, Sir."

"Good. Until then, you're both confined to quarters. Someone'll be along for meals."

* * *

The next week passed slowly. Zuko trained and meditated, and so did Sokka. Meditation for the Watertribesman, though, involved a whetstone and an oiled rag.

Weapons were not allowed at mealtimes and the two men sat as far from each other as the kitchen allowed. Even so, conversations wasn't completely stunted. River and Kaylee did their best to inject some cheer from time to time but the conversations didn't typically last long and not many people joined. Discussions with River were often difficult to follow even in normal circumstances.

The efforts seemed to rub off, though, because Zoe started bringing little Emma back to the dinner table. It was hard even for so many battle hardened men to stay straight-faced with a bouncing, adorable baby girl in their midst. It was a small victory, but at more than one meal she managed to get even the perpetually grumpy faced men to crack a smile, and all at the same time, too. Truly, the baby worked miracles.

After one such dinnertime, Zuko was feeling dangerously optimistic. It would probably backfire, he knew, and might even result in whatever ambiguous threat Mal had dreamed up back in the infirmary. Something, though, about the unabashed cheerfulness of Emma's young life made the prince want to try.  
Timing was everything, though, so he waited until he and Sokka's escorts had steered them safely towards their respective bunks.

"Sokka," he called, encouraged that the look on the Tribesman's face had stopped at mild disgust and not continued on to achieve red-hot hatred.

Attention given, Zuko tread carefully. He'd been thinking about it the past few days. What was said next could make or break their tenuous truce and possibly a few bones. There were hundreds of things he might start with, but he stuck to something innocuous, something hopeful. Something in English.

"Do you play Pai Sho?"

* * *

yi da tuo da bian - "a big pile of shit" according to the Firefly wiki

I'm back! Updates will not come quickly.


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